I talk to dead people.
They usually talk back.
If you think I’m in need of medical attention because of this claim, you might want to stop reading here.
If, however, you’re willing to come with me on this journey and keep an open mind, let’s go, shall we?
I could write a book’s worth of words on how Prince came to be part of my formative late teen/early twenties life but suffice it to say I knew who he was before anyone else did. Catching him on a late night showing of “Midnight Special”, I remember being confused a bit. Man? Woman? Who was this person in underwear and thigh-highs, strutting around the stage?
From that point on, he was mine. I talked about him to anyone who would listen. And when he broke big with Purple Rain, this girl couldn’t have been any happier to see it.
I was a die hard fan for many, many years. Then, somewhere in the mid-90s, I somehow lost the thread that kept us together. It felt like he went down a strange road and I didn’t know what to make of it and so stepped off the Prince bus.
Seeing him in concert in 2000 for the 3rd time, I recall it was just a mess. He was way late and I was really unimpressed. After the first two concerts I attended (Purple Rain and Lovesexy), the bar was pretty high anyway. Still, I left with a sadness because I felt my Prince-love days were well past me.
So, I moved away again.
Earlier this year, I saw a picture of him online and he seemed gaunt and thin and I recall thinking “something isn’t right there”. I had heard whispers of hip pain and needed operations not being done and all manner of things.
When I heard his plane had an unexpected stop in early April, my intuitive friends and I began to chatter, worrying about him. Natal charts were peered at and all manner of woo was invoked but results felt inconclusive. Like, more was coming but what?
Pictures surfaced of him riding his bike around the Paisley Park compound days after the stop convinced me I had nothing to worry about
That morning, April 21, when I saw that there a medical emergency at his home, I knew without knowing how that he was gone. It came out in dribs and drabs until finally word spread across the electronic space we call home that he had died.
I am pretty sure I went into some form of shock at that point and I don’t even know why.
It wasn’t like I knew him and like I said, hadn’t been listening to or really following him for years. Yet, my world was shaken in a way for which I had no explanation. Sitting on my couch, teary-eyed, reading everything I could find about it, it felt like I went through a portal from which there was no return. A place I hadn’t asked to go, didn’t want to go but there I was.
Trying to run away from the sadness, I decided to go out somewhere. Didn’t know where. Just get in the car and drive, a voice said.
As I opened the car door, I heard (in my mind’s ear, as I do) “Hi!” and I knew it was him. (Don’t ask me how, I just did, despite never having connected with him energetically at all.)
At that point, I was almost literally sick with grief and had no space in myself to be chatting up his ass. So I said “No. I cannot talk to you now. I am about to throw up right here and I cannot do this.”
His response? “Okay. I was just visiting some people to say hello.”
Again, I reiterated “I cannot with you now. Please just go away.”
So he did.